


Perspective

by orphan_account



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Shizaya drabbles based on one-word prompts from Twitter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lightning

Izaya has always been fond of thunderstorms. The dark clouds rolling in bring spontaneity in their wake, along with the crackle of thunder and onslaught of rain. From his apartment window, which takes up a good portion of the wall, he can see the storm making its way towards him, passing over what he gauges to be Ikebukuro in the midst of its journey. He wonders what the residents-- human and inhuman -- are doing about it. A login to the chatroom and quick scroll to back-read the logs informs him that the power is out throughout the city, or at least he suspects it is, due to the sudden, collective disconnect of Mikado, Anri, and Celty, who had been the only participants at the time. Izaya’s eyes skim over the words, white on black. The conversation had, predictably, been about the weather, with Celty fretting that her “friend” was out and she didn’t know whether he would be in danger. Anri of course, had consolidated, saying he was probably seeking shelter in a nearby store, and Mikado had reassured her that he was likely safe, remarking that he had just seen a particularly large flash of lightning and wondering if the others had as well. It was a perfectly mundane conversation, really, and so of course Izaya had to chime in.  
  
_Aaaaaaaa!! A scary scary thunderstorm, Kanra-chan is scared!!_

And, since he was Izaya:

_Do you think anyone got struck by lightning? Maybe the guy who is always carrying around vending machines-- they’re a pretty good conductor of electricity!! Maybe he’s dead!_

And then:  
  
_I wonder if the head_ _less rider is okay-- always riding around on that open bike has to be dangerous!!_

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he logs out of the chat room, figuring he’ll check in later, once it’s more likely that the power has returned. Izaya sinks into the cushions of the couch, turning off the television so he can hear the raindrops beginning to splatter against his windows and rooftop properly. Namie is out for the night, doing god-knows-what, and so the apartment is his and his alone-- which is fine, of course: she annoys him anyway. The darkness of the room suddenly strikes him; he has neglected to turn on any lights and the opaque cover of the clouds lets in little light, minus the occasional streaks of lightning that illuminated the sky for milliseconds at a time.

He finds himself transfixed, staring out the window unblinkingly, watching and waiting for each bolt to brighten the sky. When he was younger, he had been told that the seconds in between the flashes of lightning and claps of thunder signified how many miles away the lightning had hit. One, two, three… twenty one, twenty two, twenty three-- about the distance from his apartment to Ikebukuro. Maybe today will be his lucky day and nature will take out Shizu-chan for him.

Maybe.

There is something about the lightning that is beautiful to Izaya-- beautiful in quite a different way than humanity is beautiful. It is raw, pure, unrefined, striking with unrestricted strength that seemed quite fantastical for what appears as solely a flash of light. It can set fire or electrocute depending on what it struck, energy manifesting in heat and flame, or electricity. It doesn’t have to damage, either, but it’s destructive reputation predominates that of harmlessness. It can be as deadly as it is beautiful, and most see it that way-- but it doesn’t have to be. It is capable of not harming, not destroying-- it is a matter of what stands in it’s way, and when and where it chooses to appear. Really, the more Izaya thinks about it, the less it’s the lightning’s fault. It can’t control itself.

A sense of familiarity washes over him as he ponders, the words tugging at a part of his brain that incites the vague notion that perhaps they don’t simply apply to the phenomenon he is thinking of.

Unrestricted strength, uncontrolled, dangerous, damaging, reputable, raw… surely those can’t apply to anything but--  
Oh. Oh, yes they can, Izaya realizes.

Shizu-chan.

And with that, he thinks, perhaps lightning isn’t so beautiful after all.

 


	2. Ethereal

Izaya looks like a different person, sleeping. Gone is the taunting grin that doesn’t always quite reach his crimson eyes, which are now shut, dark black lashes fluttering against the purplish-blue hues stamped against the pale skin under his eyes-- he must be dreaming. Shizuo briefly wonders what he dreams about, if he ever dreams about him, if he ever has nightmares, if he ever wakes up and wishes to go back to sleep to escape into the fantasy world his mind has created once more, the way Shizuo does sometimes. It’s doubtfully a nightmare-- Izaya’s face is as relaxed as Shizuo has ever seen it, and the man seems to be emitting an almost peaceful aura rather than the chaotic one he gives off while awake. Adding to the sense of serenity, there’s a fold in the sheet just above Izaya’s head that resembles a halo, a semi circular crease casting grey shadows in the otherwise white linen. It’s a paradoxical image-- an angelic Izaya-- but somehow, looking down at his face illuminated by the early rays of pale morning sunlight, it seems a little less absurd and a little more poetic. Somehow, it’s not hard to believe that the figure below him is that of a slumbering angel, perhaps resting in on a cloud, off-duty at the moment; is that of a pure, ethereal being. 

The image is flawed, however-- chapped lips swollen with healing bruises and speckled in dried blood, pale skin marred by swirling yellows and purples and blues and reds from marks both hours and weeks old. Shoulder bones jut out a bit too fair, sharp edges ripping into the picture of a celestial being; shallow breathing exposes ribs just visible upon inhale that give the appearance of someone who doesn’t take care of himself, let alone others. Yet the halo doesn’t move, and neither does Izaya, and so Shizuo rethinks his metaphor. Despite Izaya’s devilish ways, it isn’t quite fair to compare him to a demon-- not when he is so vulnerable, not like this. Perhaps a fallen angel then. Someone who disobeyed God for his own selfish purposes and fell from grace, left to wander the earth amongst the humans he loved enough to sin for. A lump rises in Shizuo’s throat when he remembers the myths of fallen angels-- that their discharge from the heavens was often due to them acquiring human lovers, which went against God’s will. Is that what Izaya had done, made love to Shizuo against God’s will? Is this why they existed as they did, as some sort of punishment? Shizuo isn’t religious, doesn’t believe in God or any god, any sort of savior or messiah, and he knows Izaya didn’t either. Watching Izaya’s chest rise and fall with each breath, it’s even harder to believe, believe that what they were doing was wrong. Other things, yes-- particularly on Izaya’s end-- other things they did and said, yes other things were sins. But not this. Never this.

How peculiar, that Izaya should be the inhuman one, that Shizuo should be the mortal, that Izaya should have to lose for loving Shizuo, and that Shizuo shouldn’t have to lose anything at all. He presses his thumb gently against a bruise on Izaya’s hip, likely from the strain of the sin at his fingertips last night.  But, as Izaya stirs, disrupting the fold in the sheets, Shizuo is reminded are both only humans-- no matter what Izaya claims about the other-- and that really, it is both of them who have fallen.


End file.
